Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and in my eyes I behold none so fair as I. For even the one they call Beauty, the Bell, is besotted by my lucious hair. The village men envy me of my spell, for I need no witchery to enchant the maidens of this provencial town. Yet even they, so untoward, follow in my humble trod. Pitiful, pious creatures. They sicken me, but here I stay. A king among sheep, or so they say. Until the day the beauteous Bell fell in love with a simple dog. A beast of the worst makings, one that cares. He's in the way and thus his day, will end in a shallow grave. I have no need of a beast, one who will never obey a king. And in the end his head will fall, lucious Bell will be my all with beauty being the final call.